Volume I Part 3 (1/2)
CHAP. V.
The luxury of the present age has perhaps made no greater progress than in the cultivation of flowers, and in nothing, perhaps, has it produced its usual effect, of depriving men of the sweet zest of simplicity, more than in our enjoyment of those sweetest of the earth's children. Heaven forbid that we should lose any of the many bright and beautiful blossoms which have been added so abundantly to our stock within the last few years: having possessed them, we cannot lose them without pain; and, perhaps, in the very variety we receive a compensation for the something that is lost. But yet there can be no doubt that in the present day we do not feel the same keen pleasure and enjoyment in our gardens thronging with ten thousand flowers which men did in those old days, when few but the native plants of the soil had yet received cultivation.
At the time that we are now speaking of, the attention of men in general was first strongly turned in France to the cultivation of their gardens; and Du Bellay, Bishop of Mans, was about that very period importing from foreign countries mult.i.tudes of those plants which are in general supposed to be indigenous to the country. One of the first efforts in the art of gardening had been to multiply those shrubs, which, though not, as generally supposed, indeciduous, retain their leaves and their colouring through the colder parts of the year, and cover the frozen limbs of winter with the green garmenture of the spring. Amongst the next efforts that took place, were those directed to the production of flowers and fruits at seasons of the year when they are denied to us by the common course of nature; and any little miracles of this sort, which from day to day were achieved, gave a greater degree of pleasure than we can probably conceive at this time, when such things are of daily occurrence.
In pa.s.sing round the battlements of the castle, as we have described in the last chapter, Marie de Clairvaut had remarked a considerable garden within the walls of the chateau itself. She had seen the rows of the neatly clipped yew, and the green holly, and she had thought that she could discover here and there a flower, even in the midst of that ungenial season of the year. How it happened, or why, matters not, but upon the third morning of her stay, she woke at a far earlier hour than usual, and rising, after a vain effort to sleep again, she dressed herself without a.s.sistance; and believing that she should have no other companion but the morning sun, she proceeded to seek her way to the garden, with a feeling of pleasant expectation, which may seem strange to us in the present day, but was then quite natural to one of her disposition and habits. The garden was easily found, many of the servants of the chateau were up and about; and one of them with haste and care proceeded to open the gates, and unlock the doors, for the fair lady, and usher her on her way.
It were needless to enter into any description of the garden; for few, scanty, and poor were the flowers that it contained, even in its brightest moments, compared with those now produced in the garden of a cottage in England. At that season, too, every thing was frozen up, and the more severe frost of the preceding nights had killed even those hardy blossoms that seemed to dare the touch of their great enemy, the winter.
It was enough, however, for Marie de Clairvaut, that the plentiful rows of evergreens refreshed her eye; and she walked along the straight alleys with a feeling of joyous refreshment, while the h.o.a.r-frost upon the gra.s.s crackled under her feet, or, catching the morning light upon the yews and hollies, melted into golden drops in the cheerful suns.h.i.+ne.
She hoped for half an hour of that sort of solitude, when, though there is no one near us, the heart is not solitary; when we hold companions.h.i.+p with nature, and in a humble, though rejoicing spirit, converse with G.o.d in his great works.
At such moments, dear, indeed, must be the person, sweet to our heart must be our ordinary commune with them, harmonious must be their sensations with every feeling of our bosom, if we find not their coming upon us an interruption; if we can turn from the bright face of nature to the dear aspect of human love, and feel the scene, and the companions.h.i.+p, and ourselves, all attuned together.
Such we cannot say was the case with Marie de Clairvaut, when, on hearing a step behind her, she turned and saw the young Marquis de Montsoreau. She felt disappointed of her solitude; but, nevertheless, she was far too courteous in her nature to suffer such sensations to appear for a moment, and she returned his greeting with a kindly smile, and listened to his words with that degree of pleasure which the intention of being pleased is sure to carry with it. Gaspar de Montsoreau talked to her of many things, and spoke on every subject so gracefully, so clearly, and so pleasingly, that when memory brought back the conversation which she was accustomed to hear in courts and cities, it seemed to her a sort of miracle, that wit and talent, such as those two brothers possessed, should have grown up like a beautiful flower in a desert, so far removed from any ordinary means of cultivation. She felt, too, that, on her return to Paris, a comparison of the sort of communion which she now held in the country, with the only kind of society which the capital could afford, would be very, very detrimental to the latter.
The young marquis, after the first salutation of the morning, commented on her early rising, and told her that both he and his brother had been up even before sunrise.
”Some of our people roused us,” he said, ”with tidings of a large body of armed men having encamped on the preceding night at the distance of about seven leagues from Montsoreau.” And he added, that his brother had found it necessary to go forth with a small party of horse to reconnoitre this force, and ascertain its purposes and destination. He did not say, however--which he might have said--that other tidings, regarding the movements of this body of men, had rendered it scarcely necessary to pay any particular attention to them, and that it was only in consequence of his pressing request that Charles of Montsoreau had set out upon a distant expedition, which must keep him absent during the greater part of the day from the side of Marie de Clairvaut.
On their farther conversation we must not dwell, for we wish to hurry forward as rapidly as possible towards more stirring events. Suffice it to say, that it pa.s.sed pleasantly enough to the fair girl herself, and far more pleasantly, though also more dangerously, to Gaspar de Montsoreau. He sat by her side, too, during the morning meal, while the Abbe de Boisguerin occupied the chair on the other side, between herself and Madame de Saulny. The Abbe spoke little during breakfast, and left the conversation princ.i.p.ally to the young marquis; but when he did speak there was a depth, and a power, and a profoundness in his words and thoughts, that struck Mademoiselle de Clairvaut much, commanded her attention, and excited some feelings of admiration. But it often happens, and happened in this case, that admiration is excited without much pleasure, and also without much respect.
The mind of a pure and high-souled woman is the most terrible touchstone which the conversation of any man can meet with. If there be baser matter in it, however strong and specious may be the gilding, that test is sure to discover it. We mistake greatly, I am sure, when we think that the simplicity of innocence deprives us of the power of detecting evil. We may know its existence, though we do not know its particular nature, and our own purity, like Ithuriel's spear, detect the demon under whatever shape he lurks.
Thus, while Marie de Clairvaut turned from time to time, struck and surprised, towards the Abbe de Boisguerin, when he broke forth for a moment with some sudden burst of eloquence, there came every now and then upon her mind a doubt as to the sincerity of all he said--a doubt of its being wholly true. That the great part was as true as it was beautifully expressed, she did not doubt; but it seemed to her as if there was frequently some small portion of what was doubtful, if not of what was absolutely wrong, in what he said. She tried to detect where it was, but in vain. It became a phantom as soon as ever she strove to grasp it; and though at times she seemed to shrink from him with doubts of his character, which she could not define nor account for, at other times she reproached herself for such feelings; and thinking of the two n.o.ble and high-spirited young men, whose education he had conducted with so much skill, wisdom, and integrity, she felt it difficult to believe that his own nature was any thing but upright, n.o.ble, and just. She knew not, or recollected not, that the children of darkness are, in their generation, wiser than the children of light, and saw not that it had been the policy and first interest of the Abbe de Boisguerin to acquit himself of the task he had undertaken in the most careful and upright manner.
The greater part of the day pa.s.sed over much as the preceding one had done, with merely this difference, that the Marquis, aided by the Abbe, persuaded his fair guest to wander forth for a short time beyond the immediate walls of the chateau; a.s.suring her, that as his brother was out scouring the country, and the peasantry all round prepared to bring intelligence to the castle rapidly, no danger could approach without full time for escape and defence. The Marquis and the Abbe accompanied her on either side, and a considerable train of servants followed, so that Marie de Clairvaut felt herself in perfect security.
Nevertheless, the ramble did not seem so pleasing to her as it might have been. Neither, to say the truth, did it appear to afford the young n.o.bleman himself the pleasure which he had antic.i.p.ated. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, the society and the conversation of the Abbe de Boisguerin irritated and made him impatient. He himself became often silent and moody; and after a time the Abbe seemed to note his impatience, and divine the cause, for with one of his own peculiar slight smiles, he betook himself to the side of the Marquise de Saulny, and left Gaspar de Montsoreau to entertain his fair guest without listeners or interruption.
The young lord's equanimity, however, had been overthrown; it was some time ere he could regain it; and just as he was so doing, and the conversation was becoming both more animated and more pleasing between him and Marie de Clairvaut, his brother Charles was seen coming rapidly over the hill, at the head of his gallant troop of hors.e.m.e.n, with grace, and ease, and power in every line of his figure, the light of high spirit and of chivalry breathing from every feature of his face, and every movement of his person.
His keen eye instantly caught the party from the chateau, and turning his horse that way, he sprang to the ground by Mademoiselle de Clairvaut's side, and gave her the good morrow with frank and manly courtesy. He said little of his expedition, except to laugh at the unnecessary trouble he had taken, the band of men whom he had gone out to reconnoitre proving to be a troop of Catholic soldiers, in the service of the King of France. He showed no ill humour, however, towards his brother, for having pressed him to undertake a useless enterprise, when, undoubtedly, he would have preferred being by the side of Marie de Clairvaut. But the smiles with which she received him proved a sufficient recompense; and he now applied himself to make up for lost time, by enjoying her conversation as much as possible during the rest of the evening, without observing that his brother appeared to be out of humour, and not very well satisfied with the attentions that he paid her.
The first thing that at all roused him from this sort of unconsciousness, was a sudden exclamation of the Marquis towards the close of the evening, when he was performing some little act of ceremonious courtesy towards their fair guest.
”Why, Charles,” he exclaimed, ”one would think that you were the Lord of Montsoreau, you do the honours of the place so habitually.”
Charles of Montsoreau had never heard such words from his brother's lips before. He started, turned pale, and gazed with a silent glance of inquiry in his brother's face. But he made no reply, and fell into a fit of deep thought, which lasted till the party separated, and they retired to rest.
Marie de Clairvaut had remarked those words also, and she felt pained and grieved. She was not a person to believe, on the slightest indication of her society being agreeable to any man she met with, that he must be necessarily in the high road to become her lover. She knew, she felt, that it was perfectly possible to be much pleased with, to be fond of, to seek companions.h.i.+p with, a person of the other s.e.x, without one other feeling, without one other wish, than those comprised within the simple name of friends.h.i.+p. She, therefore, did not know, and would not fancy, that there was anything like love towards herself springing up so soon in the bosom of Gaspar de Montsoreau. But she did see, and saw evidently, that he sought to monopolise her conversation and her society, and was displeased when any one shared them with him. It made her uneasy to see this, for, to say the truth, the conversation, the manners, the countenance, of his younger brother, were all more pleasing to her--not that she felt the slightest inclination to fall in love with Charles of Montsoreau, or ever dreamt of such a thing. But, as we have before said, if she had a preference, it was for him.
Nor was that preference a little increased by the manner in which he bore his brother's conduct. He became more silent and thoughtful: there was an air of melancholy, if not of sadness, came upon him from the very moment Gaspar spoke those words, which struck Marie de Clairvaut very much. He showed not, indeed, the slightest ill humour, the slightest change of affection towards his brother. He seemed mortified and grieved, but not in the least angry; and during the ensuing days bore with a kindly dignity many a little mark of irritation, on his brother's part, which evidently gave him pain.
”It is a sad thing to be a younger brother,” thought Marie de Clairvaut--”perhaps left entirely dependent upon the elder.”
But that very night it happened that Madame de Saulny informed her that Charles of Montsoreau was, in his own right, Count of Logeres, and considerably superior to his brother, both in power and wealth. It need hardly be said that her esteem for himself, and her admiration of his conduct, rose from a knowledge of the circ.u.mstances under which it was displayed; and she could not help, by her manner and demeanour towards him, marking how much she was pleased and interested. She gave him no cause to believe, indeed, that the interest which she did feel went beyond the point of simple friends.h.i.+p. But a very slight change in her demeanour was sufficient to mark her feelings distinctly; for her character and her habits of thought and feeling at that time were peculiar, and affected, or we may say regulated, her whole behaviour in society.